


the rise, the fall

by lunalou



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Civilian Gavin, Fake AH Crew, Falling In Love, GTA V AU, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Vagabond Ryan Haywood, he tries, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunalou/pseuds/lunalou
Summary: The news is playing live footage of the Fakes, showing them speeding away from the Vespucci Canals in monster trucks with a cart full of jet skis being towed behind them.The Vagabond is there, Gavin notes, all big shoulders and tiny waist, skull mask firmly in place. It almost makes Dooley’s stupid hat and Willems ridiculous zebra print trousers look normal, Gavin thinks.Almost.or, Gavin is trying his best to fit in as a civilian in Los Santos, but the sudden appearance of the Vagabond might just ruin any chance he has





	the rise, the fall

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: civilian gavin having a crush on and falling for big bad homicidal fahc Ryan

The first time Gavin sees Vagabond, it’s on the news. 

Gavin had finished his late shift about an hour ago but had missed the last bus home. So, by the time he makes it through the door to his crappy apartment, he’s tired, sweaty, and wants nothing more than to fall into bed.

The thought of lying in his clean sheets with a rumbling stomach and sticky skin is enough to quell that urge though, so he strips his clothes, misses the hamper when he attempts to throw them into it, and heads towards the shower.

As always, the water isn’t as hot as he likes it to be and the pressure is crap. It leaves him feeling better though, skin smelling like Axe instead of sweat which is an improvement. 

He heads towards his kitchen next clad in boxers and an old jumper, browsing through the cupboards for something to eat. He settles on noodles because he’s 1) too lazy to cook anything proper, and 2) hasn’t actually gone shopping in weeks. Noodles are nice though, are easy and quick, and it’s not even ten minutes later that he slumps onto his worn couch, steaming bowl of noodles in his hand and damp hair curling at the ends.

His apartment has thin walls, but it’s always oddly quiet at night, so he likes to put the TV on for background noise, unused to silence after spending half his childhood sofa surfing. He spots The Vagabond when he settles on a 24-hour news channel - a short clip of a robbery that’s playing on loop - and he’s only the slightest bit ashamed at the fact it leaves his mouth dry, palms sweaty, and heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

The Vagabond, as the news reporter tells them, has been linked to several different unsolved murders and crimes over the past year and has finally, finally been caught on camera. He’s wearing a skull mask, something dark and sharp looking, and Gavin notes that when the man shoots, he has scarily accurate aim. He manages to shoot all the vodka behind the cashier without coming close to hitting they guy.

There’s no sound on the clip, but Gavin can practically taste the fear in the cashier’s shout, can feel the danger that lurks in The Vagabonds quick, sharp movements. 

Gavin supposes that a natural reaction to the clip would be fear - _should_ be fear, even - but Gavin finds his eyes tracing the way the man’s jacket stretches across wide, muscled shoulders, the way his waist seems to pull in and look tiny in comparison. He sees the way the man seems to radiate a sort of elegance when he walks, strides confident and unafraid as he leaves the shop with a bag full of cash and twizzlers. 

Lately, there’s been a reported increase in crime around Los Santos. Gavin thinks that whoever’s reporting the ‘increase’ must be truly ignorant, because everybody who’s an anybody in this city knows that it’s overflowing with crime and corruption. 

A more accurate report would be that a number of crimes had been different, had been untraceable, up until now. Up until the Vagabond decides to raid a corner shop in Del Perro for money and _twizzlers_ without going back to delete the footage of himself. 

Something about the video, about the ease in which the man shoots and takes what he wants, seems purposeful. After a year of nothing and now this, a video being found and released to the public, seems like a warning. For someone or something, Gavin isn’t sure, but he does know how to read the footage for what it is. It’s an announcement, a statement that claims Vagabond - whoever he is - is here, and here to stay.

Los Santos is dangerous and messages like this shouldn’t be ignored, not even by the public. It should put people on edge, the looming danger of something around the corner, but, for Gavin at least, it makes him feel _excited_. 

Los Santos is a dirty, crime filled blackhole of corrupted government and police force. There are no rules here, not really, and America seems to ignore the mess that lurks with the city. Los Santos isn’t somewhere that people come to live their apple pie lives, and it’s because of that Gavin feels so at home here.

He's not a criminal in the same way the gangs in the city are. No, Gavin is just another member of the public - a nobody from England who's found a home in a dangerous city. It’s a very illegal home, but a home nonetheless.

The life he’s created for himself here isn’t glamorous and it’s not easy but being a nobody in a forgotten city means that Gavin can live out the rest of his life in semi-relative peace. Means that the ghosts of his past blend into the others that haunt the city streets.

* * *

"Did you hear the Vagabond got in with the Fakes?" His co-worker asks him the next day. "It's, like, actual worlds collide."

"Everybody is with the Fakes." Gavin scoffs, ignoring the way his heart picks up at the mention of the Vagabond. Over the past week the Vagabond has made a bigger and better name for himself and wherever Gavin looks his face – well, skull – seems to be plastered.

He hops up onto the counter by the till, legs swinging absently as his co-worker - Elyse, a bubbly little blonde who is also lacking an American visa - rolls her eyes at him. 

"Not just the Fakes, Gav," she tuts. "_The _Fakes."

It takes a second, but he realises that she’s not just on about The Fakes - a wide spread criminal organisation who own the better half of Los Santos - but the OG Fakes.

It’s semi-public knowledge that the Fakes consist of several different gangs, all of them rolled up into one big mess that the LSPD can never seem to deal with, but there are four main members - the original crew who started it off - who unofficially go by the name Fake AH.

There’s four of them in Fake AH, the main four who carry out the biggest heists and lurk within Las Santos’ most prestigious penthouses, plotting and looking down upon the city. Ramsey, Pattillo, Jones, and Dooley. They’re a close-knit group from what Gavin’s heard, the big four who sit in the eye of the hurricane and who seem to thrive off chaos and irrationality more than anything else.

And now the Vagabond is a part of them? 

He must truly be something to mange that, to worm his way into the middle and carve himself a spot amongst them.

"How'd you figure that out?" he asks, trying to think back to the most recent news regarding Vagabond or the Fake AH crew. 

Elyse shrugs at him and Gavin tries to ignore how shifty she suddenly seems, her eyes dropping and posture becoming too casual. "I just know it," she says, tone suggesting that Gavin doesn’t press her for answers. "Word on the grapevine and all that."

"You and your bloody grapevines Elyse," Gavin reaches behind him and grabs a pack of gum, tearing it open and popping some in his mouth, chewing in a way he knows Elyse will define as _obnoxious_, a petty action in the face of her avoidance.

"They're trusty vines," she argues, reaching across to snatch the pack of gum from his hand. "This is coming out your pay check." she tells him, diverting the subject away from the Fakes. A subject which she brought up, Gavin thinks amusedly. Elyse likes to do that, likes to try and indulge Gavin in her news before backtracking on herself.

She pops a bit of gum in her own mouth, tutting at him.

"You can’t take that out my pay check.” And then, unsure if she’s aware or not, “You do realise that you’re not actually my boss, right?"

"Please," she puts a hand on her hip and mock scowls at him. "You can't go around disputing my job role because I'm a woman."

"Elyse, I didn't mean it like _that, _Elyse_,_" Gavin huffs. "You're _literally _not my boss."

"Wow." she shakes her head at him, bringing a hand to her chest and giving him a hurt look. "If I were a man this wouldn't be an issue at all."

"You're such a wind up," Gavin huffs. "Biggest bull-shitter I've ever met. Honestly"

Elyse grins at him as the bell to the shop rings and he pulls a face at her in return. He jumps off the counter when the door shuts, leaning against it instead, shoulder brushing against Elyse. They both not so subtly watch the customer that’s just entered, trying to make sure they don’t steal anything from the shitty gas station shop they work at.

* * *

As it turns out, Elyse was right about The Vagabond working directly with Fake AH.

Gavin’s surprised at this for all of two seconds before feeling stupid for not truly believing her in the first place. Elyse always seems to have a frighteningly accurate insight into the criminal happenings of Los Santos. Gavin would say it was a suspiciously accurate insight, but he knows better. Gavin learnt long, long ago that it’s better to mind his own business and not push his luck.

He likes Elyse anyway, even if she has questionable sources.

On the news is live footage of the Fakes - the two biggest groups, Fake AH and FakeHaus – speeding away from the Vespucci Canals in monster trucks, the loud bang of fireworks echoing in the background and a cart full of jet skis being towed behind one of the trucks. 

The Vagabond is there, all big shoulders and tiny waist. His mask is in place and it almost makes Dooley’s stupid hat and Willems ridiculous zebra print trousers look normal. _Almost_.

Vagabond is kneeling on the back seat of a truck, a _missile launcher_ in his hands, biceps bulging through his leather jacket, and Gavin feels his heart beating in too fast thuds of _hot, hot, hot_. Gavin is _weak_ when it comes to stuff like this – to muscled men that radiate sheer power.

The police helicopter feed shows as the Vagabond points a missile directly towards them, the dark black eye sockets of his mask staring directly into the camera and piercings Gavin soul. Then he pulls the trigger and the camera cuts off. 

There’s something so exciting about the danger, Gavin thinks, and there’s something in him that feels as feral as the Fakes seem - that gets hyped up on the danger and is drawn in towards mindless destruction.

It’s something Gavin hasn’t acted upon, at least not since arriving in America. Luckily for him, being in Las Santos alone is enough to quell any taste for more Gavin sometimes feels, is enough to quieten the voice that wants and wants and wants. 

Back in England, Gavin had found himself drawn to criminal activity at a young age. It was different there, though, England much smaller and the crimes amplified. He had been young, had been stupid and immature. He had been prone to making impulsive decisions that got him in more trouble than it was worth. 

There was a time, way back when he still lived with his parents and hadn’t dropped out of school, that Gavin had flirted with the idea of joining the police force. He and his friend - Dan, sweet, lovely Dan - used to talk about doing something good, about working towards a better future and making a difference, and for a while it had been a nice idea. For a while it had seemed like the right thing to do, had seemed plausible and real.

But then reality kicked in and Gavin realised that stopping criminals wasn’t really the same as _being_ one. Stopping them didn’t give him the same rush, didn’t quell the burning desire in him.

It hadn’t been difficult to pick up odd jobs for people, hadn’t taken much of anything really, and by the time Gavin was thirteen he was working mostly with dealers. Gavin had been small and skinny, quick on his feet and young enough that people looked over him. People liked that – dealers liked that. They needed that.

His parents, uncaring and bordering on neglectful, had suddenly cared enough to kick him out when they had found out what he was doing. It was around the same time that the jobs given to him had started to be more dangerous, where he found himself crashing on sofa’s at parties just to sleep somewhere there wasn’t in the open. 

Life had derailed from there and it wasn’t until Dan - fitted head to toe in a police uniform, face finally free of its puppy fat and with a look of utter disbelief upon it – had pinned Gavin to the ground, muscled arms easily over powering his bony form as the rest of his team continued their raid, that Gavin finally realised that England wasn’t big enough for him.

It wasn’t home and it hadn’t been for a long time. 

But Los Santos - the dangerous city full of the unwanted, the lost, and the forgotten - fits him well, like a worn shoe or a comfortable jumper. He belongs here and is more than happy to live amongst the other ghosts here, all of them haunting the city freely and without question.

The Vagabond - new and different and everything Gavin has always found himself attracted to - has also found a place here amongst the reckless and the brave. Has found a place with Fake AH, of all people, and something inside Gavin yearns at the thought. 

He watches as the TV flips to a different camera, this time less focused on The Vagabond and more on Jones who is laughing, smile big and eyes bright, hood firmly in place despite the whipping wind. The camera changes again, back to the Canals where the original crime occurred. Fireworks are still exploding in the sky, painting everything in reds, blues, and pinks, and there’s a fire raging from a garage nearby.

Gavin snorts when the camera focuses on a crudely graffitied dick nearer the garages, the green spray paint dripping and the exact colour of the Fakes Logo.

It’s - it’s bloody stupid, really, Gavin thinks, watching as the news reporter stutters and the camera quickly switches back to Jones. Still, he can’t help but smile at the sight, something in him genuinely amused as he watches the cars disappear into the subway tunnels.

* * *

Gavin’s got the graveyard shift again.

Usually he’s paired up with Elyse, their boss paranoid enough of the city to not let them work alone, but – apparently – she has better things to do tonight than hang out with him.

Gavin’s in the small stock cupboard near the back of the store, trying his best to sort through inventory, when the bell chimes from above the door. He pauses, pen hovering above his clipboard as he debates whether to carry on sorting through the stock or to go out and ensure nothing gets stolen. Eventually, with his boss in mind, all beady eyed and cracking knuckles, Gavin lobs his clipboard onto a shelf and opens the door to the cupboard.

He blinks when he’s met with the sight of broad shoulders and a slim waist, a familiar leather jacket clinging to the man’s back and a well-known skull mask in place.

_Fuck_, Gavin thinks. _Fuck fuck fuck_ \- is he being _robbed _by the fucking Vagabond?

The thought sends a thrill through him as much as it scares the shit out of him, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself, ignoring the way excitement pools in his gut.

Gavin – not yet spotted – watches the other man hop over the counter effortlessly, biceps bulging and _wow._

It’s captivating watching the other man, being able to see up close the way he just _takes_ control of things, the way he doesn’t hesitate to do what he wants, and Gavin again finds himself uncomfortably attracted to the thought. 

It’s only when the Vagabond smashes his fist against the cash register in attempt to open it that Gavin realises that he should be stopping the other man, not watching quietly from a corner. It’s then Gavin realises that the only weapon in the shop - a gun hidden under the counter - is essentially useless to him now, the Vagabond already there with his own gun very obviously tucked into the waist of his trousers.

The Vagabond slams his fist into the register again and ah, shit, Gavin’s gonna lose his bloody job if he doesn’t make an attempt at stopping the other man.

It had taken him weeks to find somewhere shady enough that was willing to both hire him, pay him upfront in cash, and not ask him for an ID or documentation. The pay here isn’t fantastic, and the hours he works aren’t great, but Gavin lives by himself in a shitty studio flat and he has no life outside of his job, so it works.

It works and he _needs_ it to _keep_ working so that he can pay his rent and his bills and keep himself fed. So, despite the nervousness that comes with the thought, Gavin has to make an attempt at stopping the Vagabond from breaking open the cash register.

Using a gun to threaten the other man is out of the option though, so Gavin quickly scans about the shop for _something_, anything, to use as a weapon. 

The first and closest thing his eyes land on is a can of hairspray. Gavin doesn’t know much, but he needs to try something, so he darts toward it, heart thudding loudly in his chest, and snatches it from the shelf, praying that hairspray will work like pepper spray does. 

The Vagabond is still focused on opening the register, having assumed the shop was empty, so Gavin slowly creeps forward, trying his best to stay light on his feet.

It isn’t until Gavin is actually _at_ the counter, hairspray poised at the ready and heart in his throat, that he wonders what the hell he’s meant to do now. The other man hasn’t even noticed Gavin and _sure_, yeah, okay, that’s what Gavin was known for back in England. Being quiet is what he was good at, but this is the_ Vagabond_. This is a member of the Fake AH. This is a criminal the LSPD haven’t been able to pin for a year.

How hasn’t he noticed Gavin standing a few feet away from him yet? Is it purposeful or is Gavin just that good at sneaking around?

He shifts on his feet, unused to being on the other side of a robbery and decides to clear his throat to gain the other man’s attention.

The Vagabonds head snaps up, dark sockets staring at him dangerously.

Except, seeing the mask up close makes it less frightening somehow. Maybe it’s because Gavin can see the dents in it, can see the scuff marks and the shoddy black paint work underneath it, creeping down the other man’s neck. It’s creepy looking, _sure_, but the longer Gavin looks the more he starts the wonder just how the hell the other man can breathe in that thing. There doesn’t seem to be any air holes in it which must be making it real stuffy under there and -

“Is that,” The Vagabond says and oh god. _God_. His _voice _is deep and rough and manly. It seems to reverberate through Gavin’s fucking soul, makes his knees weak, and Gavin hates that he’s more turned on than afraid right now. “A can of _hairspray?_”

Gavin blinks, takes in the dark shadows and smudged paint around his eyes, ignores the way it makes something in him burn with arousal, before glancing down at the hairspray in his hand.

“Is that,” Gavin finds himself saying without thought, “the Vagabond breaking into my till?”

The other man blinks, tilts his head, and Gavin _wants_. 

“I...” the other man seems perplexed at the question. “Yes?” He answers, seemingly uncertain, “But – no, seriously – what are you gonna do with a can of hairspray?” Gavin has made the Vagabond confused. Gavin has done the impossible. Gavin has won at life. He wants to record the confused notes of the other man’s voice and listen to them on repeat. “Do you have a lighter or something?”

“I don’t smoke.” Gavin offers.

“Not - not for smoking.” Vagabond shakes his head, makes a small amused sound. “It’s for the can - you know what? Never mind.”

Gavin catches on then, eyes the lighters behind the counter and thinks wistfully of the potential flamethrower he could’ve made. “I don’t wanna blow up the shop, if you must know.” Gavin says in favour of admitting that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “It’s a petrol station for one, and I sort of really need this job. So, a lighter would be stupid.”

“I need this money,” The Vagabond answers in a petulant tone, something almost mocking Gavin’s own voice, “so,” the other man shrugs, his top stretching with the movement and revealing a thin, pretty strip of pale stomach.

“Didn’t you steal a jet ski the other day?” Gavin asks. The Vagabond shrugs again and Gavin can’t help but find the other man cute. Cute. The hardened criminal with the skull mask – cute. Gavin is screwed.

The Vagabond shifts and Gavin tenses, aware of the fact that the man across from him is a murderer, but the Vagabond doesn’t reach for a weapon. Instead he leans against the counter and watches Gavin curiously, dark eyes glittering from inside the mask. 

“That was prep,” The man offers after a beat, voice losing an edge that Gavin didn’t even realise was there. The man looks relaxed, looks like he belongs here in the shop, elbow resting against the counter and chin in his hand. “I don’t get paid until everything’s complete. I need money until then.”

“Prep?” Gavin asks, heart doing something weird, mind falling down a dark gutter and heat pooling in his stomach 

The Vagabond hums, eyes getting darker, and Gavin can _feel_ the other man’s gaze as it rakes down his body. Gavin doesn't preen at the attention - he _doesn’t_ \- but his hands do grow sweaty and his chest becomes weird and fluttery, cheeks growing hot under the attention.

“I need the money.” The other man says, voice lower than before. It makes him sound more intimidating, more dangerous, and Gavin finds himself so, so attracted to the sound of it. 

“I need this job.” Gavin returns stubbornly, proud when his voice comes out steady. “I’ll get fired if I just let you rob me. My wages come from that, you realise?” he nods his head towards the till.

“Don’t let me just take it, then,” The Vagabond says, challenging, and Gavin feels his cheeks grow warmer, a shiver running down his spine. “Stop me from doing it.” He says and Gavin can imagine it. Vagabond pushes himself upright, standing almost invitingly, and it makes Gavin’s mouth water. “I’d like to see all ten pounds of you stop me from taking what I want.”

And god, does Gavin _want_. He wants so badly to press in closer, to see just how much power is in the other man’s arms, to see if Gavin has it in him to shove the other man away. He can imagine how it’d go, can almost feel his back being pressed against the cigarette stand, the shutters cold against it as his front is warmed by Vagabond, the other man probably being able to pin Gavin easily, Gavin fighting him regardless and-

Gavin shakes himself, forces all those thoughts to the back of his mind as he takes a deep breath. Gavin knows that, even if he can somehow force the Vagabond from the store, there’s no way he’d be able to take on the rest of the Fakes. And Vagabond is in with the biggest of them, with Fake AH, and Gavin can’t chance them coming after him.

Gavin has escaped from a life like that already, has ran away to a city of sin and built himself a place within it's walls. That place might just be working at a petrol station and living in a studio apartment that’s barely got enough space in it for him, but it’s all _his_.

It’s tempting to think that he could do something here and win, prove himself in some impossible way, but Gavin’s been through this before and he knows that it’s not worth it, not in the long run. Also, this is the _Vagabond_, a notorious homicidal criminal. A criminal who, instead of shooting Gavin on sight, is arguing back with him instead. Who is standing behind the counter and staring at Gavin with something gentler than he imagined the other man possessing, something interested and hungry, like Gavin is something exciting and colourful in a world of nothingness.

“Can’t you go rob the shop up the road?” Gavin tries, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels. The other man hasn’t hurt him yet - he hasn’t even _insulted _Gavin – and deep-down Gavin doesn’t think he will. 

Even Gavin’s own dad couldn’t manage that growing up, couldn’t just be content ignoring him. Gavin has grown used to cruel words and nasty looks, takes them in stride like he would a smile, but the Vagabond isn’t treating him with any cruelty at all. Tall and menacing with and dark blood splatters on his mask - all deep rumbling voice and a bullseye aim – and yet here he is, treating Gavin like he’s more than just a fleck of dirt in a shit filled city.

“The shop up the road,” The Vagabond repeats indulgently, amused, just like when Gavin pulled a can of hairspray on him.

Gavin nods eagerly, latching onto the thought and rolling with it. “It’s a better shop then here,” he adds helpfully. “So, you’ll get more for your buck - well, more buck for your pocket, I guess. It’s not even that far,” Gavin gestures to the window, widens his eyes earnestly, “it’s just up the road on the corner.”

The Vagabond doesn’t say anything, continues to watch Gavin almost like he’s the odd one out in this situation. “They have twizzlers too,” Gavin adds, remembering the first news clip he saw of the other man. “and we only have red vines, so. And um, the girl who works the Saturday shift is usually pretty wasted at this time, so it should be an easy in and out.”

The Vagabond tilts his head at Gavin, gaze burning Gavin to the spot, pinning him like a butterfly to a board. Gavin feels like the man can see too much, feels like he’s given his hand away too soon before remembering that here in the States he doesn’t even have a hand to stand on. Still, Gavin has dealt with criminals before, has stood up to people worse than the Vagabond, so he stares back and stands his ground, despite his dry throat and jittery fingers.

“You’d really like it there,” Gavin presses, offering the same smile he’d pulled when he tried to insist to a dealer back in England that he really, honestly, truly had no idea what that hundred quid went.

“Down on the corner?” The other man asks eventually, seeming more and more amused as he watches Gavin.

“Yeah,” Gavin blinks, body thrumming in a way it hasn’t in a long, long while. “Um. Two streets over, but you can see it from the corner of this road.”

“Two streets over.” The Vagabond repeats. He waits until Gavin nods before shifting, placing a hand on top of the counter before swinging himself over it. The whole image makes Gavin’s brain stutter to a stop again, heart fast and breath hitching at the display.

The Vagabond stands before him then and Gavin notices absently that they’re around the same height, notices that the other man smells like leather and gunpowder, notices that his chest looks even more defined this closely. “Thanks for the tip,” the other man says, voice quiet and soft, barely any space between them. “I hate red vines, so. I’ll let you off this time.”

“Yeah.” Gavin says stupidly, watching as the Vagabond leans closer for a moment, head spinning and feeling frantic for – for something. For the rush that comes from running from the cops, for the heat of the other man pressed against him, for –

Gavin isn’t sure. An invite, maybe? A goodbye? A hand on his waist, another on his chin, tilting him to where the other man wants him?

He gets none of that in the end. The Vagabonds dark eyes glint knowingly as he steps around Gavin and heads towards the shop door. The bell rings as the other man pulls it open and Gavin’s finger twitches at the noise, a small burst of hairspray flying into the air.

It makes the other man twist to stare at him and Gavin quickly raises his hands with a strained laugh. “Slipped,” he offers, “my finger slipped. Sorry, uh. My bad.”

The Vagabond says nothing for a moment, watching Gavin with that same curious amusement, before he points a long finger in Gavin’s direction. “You call the cops,” the other man says, “and you’re dead. Got it?”

Gavin blinks, feels an old bubble of anger swell at the implied notion of him being a rat, before he nods and points a finger back at the other man, speaking without thought. “You get me fired, and you’re dead. Got it?”

The Vagabond, all muscled shoulders and long legs, dark and mysterious and splattered with blood, lets out what Gavin classifies as an undignified snort.

“Funny boy,” he says, the words making Gavin’s heart flutter. “I’d love to see you try.”

And then he’s gone.

He’s gone and Gavin thinks he might be in love.

* * *

“And you didn’t hear anything, Mr. Free?” The police officer presses. “Didn’t see anything or anyone?”

“Nope.” Gavin shrugs, making sure his worried-and-very-unsettled-civilian face is firmly in place. He makes his voice just the slightest bit wobbly as he continues, “but I swear officer, if I think of anything than I’ll be sure to call you.”

"Please do," the officer tells him. She looks towards her partner then, a silent _we’re done here_, and Gavin’s grateful that they’re leaving. The male officer has been giving Gavin a weird look the entire time he's been here, not suspicious but not accepting of his story either. "I think that’s all, don't you Burnes?" 

"Yeah," the man agrees, finally looking away from Gavin and heading towards the door, throwing Gavin another considering glance as he holds it open for his partner. “We’re done. Thanks, sir.” 

"Yeah, thank you for your time, Free," the lady says, giving him a soft smile, having brought into his sacred act a bit too well, before heading out as well.

Gavin walks towards the door when he hears the engine to the police cruiser start, peering past the tatty _open _sign to watch them drive away. It isn't until they’re around the corner that Gavin slumps, tension draining from his body now the threat of the police is out of the way. 

When they'd walked in this morning Gavin had wanted to duck behind the counter and pretend not to be here, but he knows how to play people better than that. So, despite the urge to run away, he’d smiled politely instead and played the role of spooked civilian as they spoke about the gunned robbing of a store two streets over.

Gavin thinks back to the Vagabond and his heart races at memory of last night, something in him soft and pleased that the other man not only took his suggestion, but also got away safely. 

* * *

It’s a week later when he see’s Vagabond again. Gavin’s leaving work, the sky dark and the air cold with the bite of autumn in it, waiting for his bus to show. He’s tired and bored, thinking regretfully about the jacket he left at home, when he's distracted by a loud noise from across the road.

It’s a surreal sight, Vagabond and Dooley walking together out in the open and without a care in the world. The Vagabond is in his skull mask and Dooley is wearing something more garish than normal – a purple and orange suit – and they both stand out like sore thumbs on the otherwise empty street.

There’re guns strapped to their back and Gavin spots the glint of what he thinks is a knife in the Vagabonds hand. It’s dreamlike, stupid, and Gavin wonders if he’s really seeing what he thinks he is.

_Sure, _it's dark, the sun having set hours before and the lateness of the hour meaning almost every civilian is holed up safely in their homes. Still, Gavin can't quite wrap his head around the _ballsiness_ of it all – of walking down an open street, weapons on display and in very noticeable outfits. There are no cop sirens echoing in the distance, though. There’re no flashing lights in the distance or screams of fear, no wake of destruction or terror.

They’re just out for a walk, it seems.

It’s crazy, Gavin thinks. Absolutely _insane_.

And yet he finds it so very thrilling.

He knows that Fake AH are the biggest name around here, are notorious and more than a local legend at this point, but to see this. To see two of the most well-known criminals in Las Santos taking a late-night stroll without a care in the world is mad. It’s _thrilling_.

They look untroubled, Dooley laughing freely and without shame, and Gavin finds himself drawn to them both for what is probably all the wrong reasons. Finds himself exhilarated off the thought, finds himself desperate to know how it must feel – the power, the freedom, the adrenaline of it all.

The Vagabond is wearing a different jacket today, this one as dark as his mask, and seeing him dressed head to toe in black makes Gavin want to swoon. The dark colours make the other man seem longer and leaner and the knife - because yeah, now they're closer he can see that it's definitely a knife - gives him a menacing edge. 

Gavin is reminded again about how messed up he is when, instead of running in fear, shaking and afraid at the sight of weapons clad criminals, he feels himself buzzing in excitement.

Gavin’s still staring when Vagabond glances his way, the dark eye sockets of his mask latching onto Gavin and sticking, two abyss like holes drawing in Gavin’s entire being. The sight of him makes Gavin wants to melt. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the other man since he saw him last, has pictured bumping into him again and again and again, craving the sight of him, the imagined taste of him.

Here he is, finally, a dark sleek figure carrying a _knife_ of all things, and it makes Gavin’s heart pound. Makes heat pool in his stomach, especially knowing that the Vagabond has not only spotted him, but also recognised him in turn.

The Vagabond’s arm - the one that’s not holding the knife - twitches in an aborted motion of a wave and a smile tugs at Gavin’s lips, cheeks flushing and something in him feeling warm and soft, dripping like honey. 

Then, before he can think better of it, he offers the other man a cheery wave of his own. He tries to play it off cool, friendly, but the excitement he's feeling at seeing the Vagabond again probably makes it look just about as eager as it feels. 

Gavin refuses to be embarrassed by it though, refuses to be ashamed at his own keenness. He saw the Vagabond and _lived_ \- saw the Vagabond and convinced him to rob a different store, made him snort in laughter and stare at Gavin in a way that made him shiver all the way down to his toes.

Gavin’s smile grows when he sees the other man's arm twitch again, fingers waving in an awkward manner that Gavin wants to cry over because it’s _cute_. Even with the road between them, Gavin can feel the other man's disbelief, can almost taste the bemusement, the same emotion that he regarded Gavin with in the store. 

Dark sockets stay locked onto him and the man - _Vagabond_ \- nods his head in silent greeting, a subtle movement, something Gavin wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t staring to intently at the other man.

The bus pulls up then, successfully blocking the Vagabond from sight, and by the time he’s brought a ticket and sat down the other man is nowhere in sight.

Gavin’s heart sings on the way home, though, thuds of _cute cute cute_ radiating through his entire being because - despite everything about the other man - his small nod _was_ cute. His aborted wave was cute. His skull mask, hiding what Gavin is sure must’ve been a look of surprise, was _cute_.

Gavin knows then that he’s fucked.

* * *

When Gavin next sees the Vagabond it’s because he - quite literally - bumps into the other man.

Well, runs into the other man is probably the more apt description.

He had finally convinced himself to buy groceries from an actual supermarket instead of eating whatever was on sale at work. He’d been lingering by the noodle section, weighing up whether to pay out for brand pot noodles as a treat or to go for the store equivalent and suffer through the dusty taste. The few dollars he’d save could go on red bull which was a big pro, but is the minging dusty taste really worth it?

Before he can make his decision, the shop starts to shake, shelves rattling in place and food falling to the floor, people shouting in alarm and the sound of glass smashing echoing throughout the shop.

Gavin looks around him in utter confusion, Los Santos not being known for its earthquakes, when a loud explosion from across the street rumbles, the sound vibrating straight through him. The blast is close enough to make him stumble, knocking him off balance and straight into the shelf next to him, and somebody an aisle over starts to scream bloody murder - something that, mixed with the explosion, causes everybody to finally jump into mass panic. 

People start to shove by him in panic, shoving him hard enough into the shelf that his ribs ache. Half the shopping carts are discarded wildly whilst others are being wheeled directly out the exits, shouts of “_loot - loot!” _and _“run for your fucking lives oh my god_” filling his ears. 

Civilians, Gavin thinks as he rights himself, are amusingly dramatic and opportunistic. He makes his way over to a shattered window, watching as the public scatter in fear, an old feeling of excitement thrumming through him.

Gavin has been told on countless of occasions that he has no sense of danger. Dan had told him, desperate and afraid, and some people he’d worked for had told him, threateningly and with clear disdain. Gavin disagrees with this statement because he knows exactly what danger is.

He knows the way it makes his heart race and his senses become sharper, knows that the rush that comes with it is like no other, knows that in Los Santos danger usually comes with dinner and a show.

Gavin has been in danger, willingly and not so. Has been under the threatening gaze of his father and under fire whilst working odd jobs for people back in England.

Gavin knows what danger is, acutely so, but he isn’t afraid of it. 

He craves it, really. There’s something in him that gets off on the fear, on the tangible taste of panic that floats in the air, the way people seem to lose any modicum of sense when it comes to it. 

It’s a terrifyingly wonderful feeling, Gavin has found. 

If Gavin was normal, then he’d still be in England. He would’ve stayed in school with Dan, following him into a normal job. He would’ve followed Dan for the rest of his life, would have chosen being safe over anything else. 

Instead, Gavin had chosen to dabble in crime. Instead Gavin is currently hired illegally in the states, hiding in a city full of danger and death and corruption. He’s here, in this veil of madness, and he loves it.

Gavin recognises the building that’s ablaze across from him. It’s a run of the mill clothes shop - well, what’s left of a clothes shop. There are flames everywhere, glass everywhere, and those brave enough are filming the destruction on their phones in a horror-stricken fascination.

And then the sirens sound in the distance, loud and whirring, at the same time a gunshot sounds from in front of him.

Gavin may not be afraid of danger, but even he has his limits. So, when a jar of pasta sauce explodes next to his head from a stray bullet, splattering him in a thick tomato sauce, he decides it’s time to call it a day.

He turns, grabs a pot noodle from the shelf, and makes his way towards the fire exit. He slips into the alley behind the store, finding it empty, the only things in here with him being a few upturned carts and kicked over garbage bins. It stinks out here, the mix of smoke and rotting garbage making him want to gag.

More gunshots sound from the front of the store, even closer than before, so Gavin runs in the opposite direction, ducking his head low and focusing on making himself as small a target as possible for any stray bullets. 

It’s as he’s focusing on this - hunching shoulders and sticking as close to the wall as possible, considering pulling his shirt over his face because _christ_, the stench of rotting food is going to kill him if nothing else - that he slams into something.

Into someone.

Gavin lets out a startled yelp and flails his arms as he tries to regain his balance, accidentally hitting the person in front of him, but his floundering does more damage than good. It doesn’t help that the persons he’s knocked into has as much sense as Gavin does and somehow, they find themselves sprawled on the floor of the alley instead of remaining upright.

Well, whoever he’s knocked into is sprawled on the floor, Gavin having landed on top of them.

“Bloody watch it,” Gavin snaps out, adrenaline still flowing through him from the sound of bullets, the growing stench of garbage and smoke, the blue and red lights that are starting to light up the darkening sky. “Jesus,” Gavin continues, heart pounding, “why the hell-” he pushes himself up far enough to glare at whoever’s below him, fully prepared to continue his self-righteous rant against the idiot he’s ran into, but Gavin freezes at what he sees.

The Vagabond is below him, skull mask firmly in place, but this time Gavin is close enough to see blue, blue eyes staring back at him in bewilderment. 

“Hey!” Gavin says, suddenly delighted, all annoyance forgotten as he scrambles to sit up. “It’s you!”

“Uh,” the Vagabond says, blinking once, twice, seemingly not knowing how to deal with Gavin’s sudden change in attitude. Or maybe it’s the fact Gavin knocked him straight off his feet. “Hi?” The man settles on saying, and Gavin can almost feel the way his voice rumbles through his chest, can feel the warmth of the other man next to him, can -

Oh god. Gavin has knocked the Vagabond to the floor. 

“Sorry,” Gavin blurts, suddenly self-conscious and very aware of how dangerous the man is, suddenly nervous he’s ruined the tentative friendliness that had built between them. He reaches out to pull the other man into a sitting position, rambling out a chorus of, “god- sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry-” he reaches out to brush the dirt from the Vagabond’s shoulders, fingertips coming away dark and sooty. “I didn’t mean to knock into you, I swear. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Vagabond says, still apparently bewildered, maybe a bit offended. “I’m - I don’t just go around killing people, you know?”

“You don’t?” Gavin asks, blackened fingers twitching. “But, like, isn’t that what you’re known for?”

“It’s a part of my job.” the Vagabond tells him flatly. He pushes himself to his feet and Gavin follows his face from his position on the floor, neck craning up and up and up. “Was my job,” the other man corrects more softly, fists clenching by his side, “before I came here, that is.”

“Oh,” Gavin says, not sure how to respond to what is obviously a touchy subject. He considers mentioning his own dark past, something in him desperate to make the other man feel better, to make him feel less alone, but he stops himself, unsure of how it’d go down. 

Unsure why he suddenly wants to share anything at all.

“Well,” Gavin tilts his head, mind whirling and feeling sort of starstruck by the other man’s long legs and blue eyes, “that’s a relief then, isn’t it? I live to see another day.” 

“I...” the Vagabond trails off, squinting down at Gavin in confusion before seeming to shake himself. He makes a noise then, a not quite laugh, shrugging. “I suppose it is.” He says, offering Gavin a gloved hand.

Gavin stares at it dumbly for a moment, mind suddenly only able to register the other man’s fingers. They’re long, almost elegant, and Gavin wonders if the other man plays piano. They wiggle in front of his face then, making Gavin blink. “Are you just gonna stare?” Vagabond asks, sounding amused, “or are you going to let me help you up?”

“Help,” Gavin rushes to say, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. He reaches forward to grasp the other man's hand - and god, his hand is just slightly larger than Gavin’s own, fingers long as they wrap around Gavin’s, warm and firm as he pulls Gavin easily to his feet.

“Christ,” the man comments, supporting Gavin with a hand on his shoulder as he stumbles. “You weigh nothing.”

“What?” Gavin demands, flustered by the comment. “I do too. You’re just,” he gestures to the other man's arms and chest and just, well. The other man’s general being. His stupidly hot general being that makes Gavin’s heart race and his brain falter.

“I’m what?” The man seems genuinely interested in Gavin’s answer and obviously not picking up on Gavin’s thoughts of_ muscles muscles muscles oh my god muscles-_

“Muscly,” Gavin blurts honestly. Maybe too honestly. God - what is he? A 12-year-old with a crush? Gavin can feel his face get hotter, his palms sweatier, his heart faster. “And, you know. It’s, like. You’re criminally muscled.”

“Criminally muscled.” Vagabond repeats and, although Gavin can’t see it, he could swear the other man is smiling. “What does that even mean?”

“Nothing.” Gavin says quickly, half wanting the floor to open beneath him and half wanting to reach out and grasp the other man's biceps just to prove his point. “Just ignore me.” 

The Vagabond stares at him for a long moment and Gavin finds himself once again captivated by the other man. It’s not often that Gavin likes somebody – not like this, anyway. Not in a way that makes his heart race and his palms itch, in a way that makes Gavin want to try. Try to be funny, try to impress, try to not throw up on the other person's shoes out of nervousness.

Gavin _wants_. 

A hand touches his arm then, gentle and hesitant, and Gavin snaps his gaze to see the Vagabond staring at him.

“You’re hurt?” the other man asks and for some reason Gavin thinks that the other man is on about his heart.

For some wild, unknown reason Gavin thinks that the other man _must_ be talking about Gavin’s heart. In that second it makes sense to think that the other man has somehow seen into the mess of his mind, has seen the fragility that comes from being so different from everyone he knew growing up – that comes from nasty names being spat at him and having parents that never cared.

Gavin has been hurt in life – in more ways than he wants to admit – but he doesn’t like thinking about it, let alone speaking about it. Yet here he is: the Vagabond before him, danger and kindness and everything Gavin has always wanted, and he suddenly finds himself wanting to say _yes_.

Gavin wants to admit to the hurt that bubbles inside him at times, dark and consuming. He wants to relate to the other man, to show him that he knows pain as well as the next person. Gavin wants to take care and be taken care of.

He wants and he wants, and he _wants_.

Then the fingers pull Gavin’s arm out further and he looks down, barking out a startled laugh because _of course_.

Why would the other man have known? How could he have?

Gavin’s sleeve is splattered with sauce, dark red and staining the grey of his jumper, and he sees now how the other man could’ve gotten confused.

“Oh,” Gavin breathes, a mix of relieved and disappointed. “Oh, no. I’m fine. It’s sauce.”

“Sauce?” The Vagabond asks him, bewildered and sweet and lovely. 

“Yeah,” Gavin almost laughs, shaking his arm from the other man’s grasp. “From a pasta jar. A bullet hit it whilst I was standing next to it and, you know,” he mimes an explosion with his hands, “boom.”

“But you’re fine?” The Vagabond presses and Gavin’s touched to realise that the gruffness to the other man's voice is worry. “You didn’t get hurt? In the explosion?”

“I’m fine,” Gavin reassures, offering a smile that must radiate the gratitude he feels because the Vagabond tenses, blue eyes latching onto Gavin’s own green. “Thanks, though.”

“It’s okay,” the Vagabond says, soft and unsure. “You’re, uh. You’re welcome.”

Gavin does laugh then, the other man an endearing mix of awkward and genuine. 

“I’ve gotta,” the Vagabond gestures behind Gavin, toward where the gunfire and flames are. “Go do my job.”

“Oh,” Gavin blinks, thinking of the soot on the other man's jacket and recognising the outline of a gun in his pocket. “I’ve interrupted your work this time, then?”

“I guess so,” the other man agrees, snorting, and then quickly and seemingly without thought, “we’ll have to meet up when we’re both off the job instead.”

Gavin blinks, watches as the pale strip of the other man's neck turns pink, and feels his own cheeks grow warm in return. 

“I guess we will.” Gavin says, heart in his throat. 

“Yeah,” the other man agrees, eyes blue and pretty and voice almost shy. “That’d be - um. Nice.”

“Yeah.” Gavin agrees, grin spreading across his face. “Yeah it would.” and then - belatedly - he thinks to give his name to the other man. “Gavin.” he introduces, feeling a bit stupid as he sticks his hand out. 

The Vagabond grips his hand in return, firm and warm, and his eyes scrunch is what Gavin hopes is a smile. “Gavin,” he repeats and yeah, Gavin can recognize the smile in the other man's voice this time. “Nice to meet you. Again. I’m - uh. Well.”

“The Vagabond?” Gavin guesses, understanding where the hesitance is coming from. “Skull guy? Criminally Muscled?”

“Criminally Muscled,” the other man snorts. “Sure, you can call me that.” 

“I can make up a name for you, if you’d prefer?” Gavin offers, marvelling in the fact that they’ve gone from shaking hands to just holding them.

“Make me a name?” the other man asks curiously.

“You can be Pubert?” 

“God,” the Vagabond laughs then - giggles, maybe. It’s something higher pitched than Gavin was expecting, startled and genuine and beautiful. Gavin smiles at the sound, wanting to record it and use it as his ringtone. “Not Pubert.”

Another explosion sounds then, rattling the ground and sending Gavin stumbling into the other man, breaking the bubble they’d found themselves in.

Suddenly Gavin remembers the chaos around the corner, can hear the screams and shouts, can hear the faint crackling sound coming from a Bluetooth headset in the other man's ear. The Vagabond seems startled too, one arm catching Gavin almost automatically whilst the other reaches up to press a hand against his ear.

“-an, where the _fuck_ are you, man?” Gavin hears a voice shouting. “If you’re fucking dead, I’m gonna come kick you in the fucking balls you piece of shit -”

“Shit,” the Vagabond breathes, pressing a finger on the headset. “Hi - no, hi!” 

There’s a chorus of voices on the other side then, all of them sounding relieved, one sounding partially angry in said relief, and Gavin feels like he’s introducing an intimate moment, so he takes a step back, the other man’s arm sliding from his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” the Vagabond says, eyes peering around Gavin towards the exit of the alley. “I just got caught up back here, but I’ll be out now - yes yes. Yes. I know. I know! I heard! I’m coming!”

Gavin takes another step back, pressing against the wall as the Vagabond heads onwards, brushing past Gavin and lost in a conversation only he can hear.

Gavin sighs, watching him leave with a wistful feeling. He lets himself slump back against the wall once the other man is out of sight, no longer bothered by the smell of rotting garbage. He feels somewhat disappointed at the man’s departure, at the way he didn’t even glance back toward Gavin, but Gavin should’ve expected that.

Gavin is, after all, a civilian here. A nobody in the grand scheme of things – especially not to the Vagabond who lives in a world totally different to Gavin’s.

Gavin shoves his hands in his pocket, cursing quietly when he feels how crushed his pot noodle has become. 

He pulls it out with a frown, somehow relating to the crushed and brittle plastic. He ignores that thought, hating the dramatics of it, lobbing the pot noodle towards a bin before straightening up and heading towards the exit of the alley - the one that leads away from the flames and the shouts.

“Gavin!” a voice shouts just as he’s about to walk out. He twists in surprise to see the Vagabond rushing back toward him, footsteps fast and voice urgent. 

“Um,” Gavin blinks, trying not to show his delight. “Hello, Mr. Muscles. Everything okay?”

“Hi,” the other man says, breathless. “Sorry – I just. I’ll find you, yeah? And we can just -- hangout?”

“Yeah,” Gavin breathes. “Yeah! Um, cool, I mean. Awesome.”

“And,” the other man leans in then, mask pressed to the side of Gavin’s face and making him fill with something soft, stupid, and sweet. The other man smells better up close, the gunpowder and leathery smell giving way to something that’s more boyish - something smoky and sweet. Gavin wants to roll in it, wants to wrap himself up in the smell, to make candles of it and sell them to nobody because the smell is for him alone. The mask is cold against his cheek, the plastic hard and probably leaving sooty stains, but Gavin doesn’t care because it’s Vagabond. It’s the muscled man that has made Gavin want to swoon since the moment he laid eyes on him and Gavin’s heart feels like it’s going to explode. “I’m Ryan,” the Vagabond says quietly, the words for Gavin and Gavin alone. Sacred and secret and so, so full of trust. The other man reaches out to shake Gavin’s hand once, firm and quick, face lingering near Gavin’s own.

He pulls back then, leaving Gavin flushed and buzzing and hot.

“See you,” the other man says, more composed than he was earlier, almost cheeky with the knowledge that he’s reduced Gavin to this with nothing. Confident and proud and god, Gavin is screwed. “Be safe, yeah?”

“Bye,” Gavin says, watching as the man takes a step backward. “Good luck out there.”

The other man laughs then, shakes his head and stares at Gavin with a level of fondness that makes him want to melt all over again. “Thanks,” he says, grin in his voice, and then he takes another step backward, then another, before he turns and runs back the way he came.

* * *

After Gavin’s shift the next day, he gets home to see a box sitting outside the door to his flat.

He pauses, unsure if somebody has left a bomb or put dog shit in there, before he tells himself he’s being stupid. Just because he lives in a rundown part of town with various nefarious looking characters doesn’t mean that they’d go out of their way to harm him.

So, he picks it up, takes it into his apartment, and opens it on his coffee table.

Inside are multiple pot noodles, sooty fingerprints tracked over them, and there’s a note lying on top.

_saw you chucking away your noodle, sorry for crushing it. Hope you like at least one of these flavours. See you soon - Pubert. _

Gavin feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest, a stupid squeal escaping his mouth. 

Ryan the Vagabond has left him _pot noodles_ of all things. All because he saw Gavin throw his crushed one away. God - it’s so _stupid_. It’s so, so stupid and Gavin is so, so happy.

* * *

“So, you _met_ the Vagabond?” Elyse demands. “And he what - leaves you gifts?” 

“Be quiet,” Gavin scolds her. “A customer could walk in at any moment!”

“Gavin,” Elyse says flatly, disbelief still painted over her face, “it’s 3am! Firstly, we never get any customers on the graveyard shift, and secondly, you just said the _Vagabond _has been leaving you presents!”

“They’re not presents,” Gavin pauses then, thinking first of his pot noodles and then of the other things that have been left over the past few weeks.

(There were only three other gifts, really. A batch of noodles in a Whole Foods bag with the note _you need a better brand of noodles, seriously_. A hamper of all things, something expensive looking and luscious with the message _you should eat something other than noodles. Maybe you’ll look less noodle like yourself_. Then the last gift, a phone, one Gavin easily recognised as a burner, with a text saying _hey Gavin_.)

Since that last gift almost two weeks ago they’ve been texting non-stop. Gavin feels somewhat like a teenager, glued to his phone and messaging Ryan late into the night, smiling like an idiot and being obvious enough about it for Elyse to grill him for information on a daily basis.

He’d finally given in today, a mix of her persistence and the late hour of the night making him weak enough to admit everything to her. Elyse is many things, but most importantly she’s Gavin’s only friend over here. Somebody he trusts.

“You’re living a double life,” Elyse points an accusing finger at him, but her face is pleased, grin cheshire like and making Gavin feel like he’s laid on display for her amusement. “It’s like I’m harbouring a criminal in my very own store.”

“Shut up,” Gavin complains, feeling heat creep up his neck and onto his face. “You don’t know what you’re on about, love. And,” he points a finger at her in return, trying to match her pace for pace, “this isn’t _your_ store.”

“The _Vagabond_,” Elyse repeats, shaking her head. “Fake AH! Look at you, my little baby criminal.”

“Shut up,” Gavin repeats with more urgency, eyes flicking around the empty store as if somebody might be hiding amongst the shelves, ready to rat him out the police. “There might be customers.”

“We don’t get customers at this time.” Elyse points out again, grinning as if Gavin’s news has made her day. Which, knowing her, it probably has. Elyse has always had a _thing_ for criminals and the disturbances around town - something unspoken and something that Gavin has been more than happy to ignore.

“We might get some,” Gavin argues back, thinking back to all those weeks ago when the Vagabond had tried to smash his way into their till. “So we should change the subject.”

“You can’t just say that you’ve been chatting up _Vagabond_,” Elyse’s’ gestures grow more animated as she continues, delighted with Gavin’s sudden confession. “And expect me to shut up. You’ve just told me that you’re in cahoots with a criminal!”

“Cahoots?” Gavin squawks. “I’m not in cahoots with anyone!”

“Is sleeping with a criminal cahooting?” 

“I’m _not_ sleeping with him,” Gavin splutters. “I’ve only met him a few times, for one, and I...” Gavin trails off, trying to think of a way to explain the pounding of his heart and the heat that pools in his stomach when it comes to Ryan. Tries to think of a way to suggest that it’s more than just outward lust - that Gavin really, really likes the other man. “He’s just... He’s nice.”

“Nice,” Elyse squints at him, assessing. “The hardened criminal who calls himself Vagabond is _nice_?”

“Yes.” Gavin nods firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling oddly defensive of the other man. Gavin has known a range of nasty people, both civilian and criminal, and Ryan doesn’t fit into a category even close, not when it comes to how he treats Gavin.

“Oh,” Elyse blinks then, eyes growing brighter. “Oh, you love him!”

“Elyse!” Gavin snaps. “I _don’t_!”

“You _love _the Vagabond,” Elyse continues, ignoring his protesting noises. “Oh wow. I had no idea you were - I mean, I knew you weren’t here _legally_, but I didn’t think that you’d be into all that.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Gavin demands, face hot.

“That you were into the criminal lifestyle! You never said anything to me and I - oh Gav, man. Oh boy are we gonna have to go for a drink soon. When are you free?”

“What the hell are you on about?” Gavin demands, embarrassed by her accusations. By the truth behind them. “You’re so weird, I swear.”

Elyse just grins up at him, waggling her eyebrows as she bounces on the balls of her feet in excitement. 

“Now who’s being weird?” Gavin says snidely but Elyse just laughs at him, reaching over to shake his shoulder and making a weird cooing noise. 

“You’re such a dark horse, Gavin! Harbouring the Vagabond in our store and then sending him sexts during the night! God, it’s like the one time I didn’t come in was when all the fun happened.”

“It wasn’t fun, exactly.” Gavin says, ignoring the voice in his head that points out how much he enjoyed that night.

Elyse opens her mouth to say something else, but the bell above the door rings then, startling them both.

They don’t get people in on their weekday night shifts. Ever. Especially after 1am.

Except – Gavin thinks back to the Vagabond, to his robbery attempt, and he’s suddenly hopeful that the other man has come back. 

It isn’t Ryan that walks in, though. Instead it’s three other men, one with curly hair and a loud laugh, one bald and wearing sunglasses - which, _why_, it’s three in the morning – and a tired looking guy with a neatly trimmed beard. 

"Hello," the curly haired man calls to them, grinning in such a way that Gavin feels instantly on edge. "Don't mind us!” he continues, “just browsing."

Gavin shares a look with Elyse, or he tries to at least, but she’s staring intently at the tired looking guy who, when Gavin glances over, is staring back at her almost apologetically. 

Elyse mouths something to him that Gavin can’t make out, but the man flicks his eyes over to Gavin, somewhat pointedly, and she twists to stare at him, an almost guilty look on her face.

“Know him?” Gavin asks, the silent conversation screaming familiarity. Elyse looks uncomfortable for a moment before she shrugs, sending an annoyed look towards the three who have ventured towards the back of the store.

“You could say that, yeah.” Elyse says illusively. 

“Do we need the gun?” Gavin asks uncertainly. 

“No,” Elyse shakes her head, letting out a huff. “No, they’re - uh. Harmless, I guess.”

She doesn’t sound too sure about that fact, but Gavin trusts her. “Okay then,” Gavin says agreeably, not liking the tension that has built in her body. “I’ll just - go man the counter, then?”

“Yeah.” Elyse nods, eyes still pinned on the trio. “Yeah, you go do that, Gav. I’ll be a moment.”

Gavin focuses on rearranging the lighter section on the counter into colour order, trying his best to overhear the hissed conversation Elyse is having in the corner and trying his best not to feel annoyed by her evasiveness.

He isn’t sure how to feel about the group’s presence, about the way Elyse’s entire demeanour had changed at the sight of them, and it’s obvious that she knows them, that she’s got history with them. Gavin has learnt what topics not to push with her, though, and he doesn’t want to start anything with customers in the store.

Gavin can’t hear what Elyse is saying from here and when he glances up to try and catch a glimpse of them, he jumps to see that the curly haired man is standing before him.

“Oh,” Gavin startles, not knowing how the other man had crept up on him so easily. “Hi.” The other man stares at him and Gavin can’t help but feel like he’s being sized up for something. “Can I help you with something?”

“Maybe,” the man says, flashing him a wolf-like smile, all teeth and bite. “That would depend. It’s Gavin isn’t it?”

Gavin tenses before remembering that he’s wearing a staff badge with his name printed on it. He tries to ignore the voice in his head that suggests that man hasn’t even glanced at said pin, that he’s been focused on Gavin since the moment he walked into the store and offers a polite smile.

“Yep.” Gavin nods. He forces himself to untense shoulders, reminding himself that there’s a gun to the right of him if he needs it. 

The man hums, shoving his hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket, and Gavin almost recognises the action, suddenly finding the guy oddly familiar. 

“What booze d’ya have back there then?” The man asks him, nodding his head behind Gavin’s shoulder.

“Can you not see it yourself?” Gavin doesn’t want to turn his back to this man, feeling somewhat like prey under his predatory gaze.

“I’m blind,” the man shrugs easily. “So you’ll have to tell me.”

“Maybe your friend can tell you,” Gavin suggests, eyes flicking to where the bald man is lingering a shelf over, peaking at them in an unsubtle manner. 

“Or maybe you could just do your job,” the man argues, looking annoyed. “And serve your customer.”

“Fine,” Gavin snaps, twisting his head around and gesturing at the lines of alcohol. “Whisky, vodka, gin. It’s the usual stuff.”

“Should you be serving alcohol at a gas station?” The man asks him, leaning casually against the counter as he watches Gavin. “Seems pretty stupid, if you ask me.”

“Well it was my choice to stock it here,” Gavin bites out sarcastically. “So, obviously I think it’s a great idea.”

The curly haired man frowns at that, opens his mouth to say something else, but the other guy snorts in laughter, deciding to ditch his act of browsing and walk up to the counter instead.

“British wit,” the man comments, smile joyful, “I never thought I’d see it in person.”

Gavin tries to decide if he’s being insulted, but something about this man seems genuine, his smile friendly and his face inviting. Again, a part of Gavin feels like he’s seen the face before, but he can’t picture where.

“Oh yeah,” the curly haired guy snorts. “It’s real charming, aint it? Everything I ever hoped it’d be.”

“I think it _is_ charming,” the bald man says, giving his friend a pointed look. “I’d say it’s very charming. Suitable.”

“Well you haven’t known it for long, so I’m not sure if your opinion is valid.”

“I think you’re just being prejudice.”

“Against something we don’t know? Better to be prejudice than stupid, I think.”

“Better to be open minded to it than-”

Gavin has no idea what’s going on, but he knows for a fact that they’re not talking about British wit at all. He feels like the conversation is somehow about him, but he has no idea how he factors into it all and, if he’s being honest, Gavin’s been confused since the bell rang above the door.

“Excuse me,” Gavin interrupts the ongoing argument, not really in the mood for whatever this is. “But can I help you with something?”

“No thank you,” the bald man says with a kind smile at the same time the curly haired man bites out a, “yes, actually.”

They turn to each other then, glaring, and Gavin feels more lost than ever.

“Guys,” the other man speaks up from the door. Elyse is by his side and Gavin’s thrown for a second at how similar they look - arms crossed over their chests, the same annoyed tilt to their lips, frowns carbon copies of each other. “Let’s just go.”

“Grow a pair of balls, Adam.” The curly hair guy snaps out. 

The guy - Adam - looks annoyed at this, but not as much so as Elyse, who takes an almost protective step out in front of him. “Grow up,” she tells him, bitingly. “And get out.” and then, after a moment, “I’d hate to let it slip that you’ve been here.”

“Come _on_,” the curly haired man argues, “at least let us-”

“Michael,” the bald guy says, cutting him off. They share a look then, longer and louder than anything they’ve been arguing about. “We should go.”

Michael sighs loudly but shrugs, making his way over to the door without a backward glance at Gavin, which makes him feel put out for some reason. 

“Sorry about that,” the bald guy says, smiling sheepishly. “He’s just protective, you know?”

“Protective of what?” Gavin asks, more confused than ever.

“Ah,” the man seems to realise he’s let something slip he shouldn’t have, the other guy by the door groaning. “Nothing! Just ignore us - pretend we were never here.”

“Okay?” Gavin says, lost. 

“Come on,” Adam says as Elyse rattles the open door in invitation. “We’re off.” 

“See ya, Gavin!” The bald man calls as he heads out. The last guy, Adam, gives Gavin and Elyse an apologetic look before leaving.

Elyse huffs, slamming the door behind them and watching them through the window with narrowed eyes.

“What,” Gavin asks after a moments silence, still reeling. “Just happened?”

Elyse throws a look his way, indescruitable, before she shrugs at him. “No idea,” she lies, and it hurts to hear her do so. 

Gavin has trusted her with one of his biggest secrets tonight and she can’t even explain who these people were in return - people she obviously knows. A secret she’s obviously keeping.

“Fine.” Gavin mutters, avoiding her gaze. “Whatever then.”

“Gav,” Elyse tries, but Gavin doesn’t look her way and she doesn’t follow him when he shuts himself in the storage cupboard, slamming the door to show his annoyance.

* * *

Gavin, 05:01am:

_weird night_

Ryan 05:01am:

_oh?_

_everything ok?_

Gavin, 05:02am:

_yeah its fine. just work stuff_

Ryan, 05:02am:

_Did somebody try to rob you?_

_If so i’ll kill them for you. That’s my territory_

Gavin, 05:03am:

_lol no you don’t need to kill anyone_

_thanks though, sweet of you_

Ryan, 05:05am:

_don’t worry about it. Whats up then?_

Gavin, 05:08am:

_just had three weirdos come in, act weird. my colleague was even weirder around them. all v weird_

Ryan, 05:08am:

_weird how_

Gavin, 05:12am

_idk. weird like i think she knew them and i think they knew me but ive nver seen them before so ??_

Ryan, 05:15am:

_Knew you?_

Gavin, 05:17am:

_maybe not know me, but it felt like they did. also it felt like i recognised two of them but i cant place their faces so_

Ryan, 05:17am:

_That does sound weird_

Gavin, 05:18am:

_ikr!! this bald guy was even wearing sunglasses at like 3am_

Ryan, 05:25am:

_Oh_

_Weird_

_out of curiosity, were the others wearing anything weird? _

Gavin, 05:27am:

_nah. curly haired guy in a leather jacket who was rude af imo but the other guy looked p norm. elyse seemed to know him well but wouldn’t tell me anything about him_

Ryan, 05:31am:

_Elyse?_

Gavin, 05:32am:

_oh! she’s my co-worker + friend. we do most shifts together. brit and canadian duo u know_

Gavin, 05:45am:

_p sure she’s in a relationship tho. And im gay so, u dont need to worry about her if u were lol_

Ryan, 05:56am:

_sorry, got caught up with something_

_She sounds nice_

_dw about those guys who came into shop btw, im sure it was nothing_

Gavin, 05:58am:

_okay, whatever u say. im gonna go 2 sleep - speak later?_

Ryan, 06:01am:

_Speak later gav. See you soon too - don’t forget that. _

_Big job should be over by this weekend so we can go for a drink_

_if you still want to that is haha _

Gavin, 06:01am:

_i do want to :) good luck with work _

Ryan, 06:05am:

_thanks!_

_sleep well x_

_maybe no x _

_sorry_

_is that weird?_

Gavin, 06:05am:

not weird. idiot xx

* * *

Gavin’s manning the shop a week later, Elyse taking inventory out back. Things are less tense between them, an unspoken agreement to just forget about what happened. Gavin’s got other stuff going on anyway, like worrying about Ryan. Which he’s been doing all day.

So when the bell chimes, Gavin isn’t really in the mood to deal with it.

It’s almost time for their shift to end too and Gavin has to refrain from groaning in frustration as he watches a man walk in. Luckily for the man he’s attractive enough that Gavin’s momentarily distracted by his annoyance, instead appreciating in the sight of broad, muscled shoulders and a small waist. 

The man sees him looking and Gavin feels his face flush when the man gives him a knowing smirk. Gavin looks away quickly, focuses on his phone instead because he’s A) not interested like _that_, and B) has been willing to play into his shit employee persona all night. 

He tries his best to stay focused on his phone even when the man walks up to the counter, hovering in front of it as Gavin keeps his gaze downward.

After a few minutes of Gavin pretending to scroll through Facebook, the man decides to clear his throat, forcing Gavin to look up. The man is even better looking close up, strong jawed and with a straight nose, something almost regal about his features. His brown hair falls around his face messily - but not like Gavin’s nest of hair, more artfully styled.

The man smiles at him again, a weird, awkwardly happily grin that makes Gavin want to smile back.

He doesn’t smile back, though. He raises an eyebrow instead, makes sure to keep his face impassive, and thinks wistfully of Ryan and their soon-to-be-date. Thinks of the heist he read about on the news, about the corruption of databases and the theft of multiple hard drives from Blaine County military base. He thinks about the pictures he saw - explosions and fire and reports of multiple people dead.

The Fakes paint themselves as impressive, godlike figures to the public, but Gavin’s invested now. It's made him very aware of just how human Ryan is underneath that mask. 

“Can I help?” Gavin asks, not bothering to sound polite. He can appreciate how this man looks, sure, but the bigger part of him is too worried to care. Gavin hates the emotion - has never been one for feelings that run too deeply and mean too much, but here he is: distracted from his work and subdued enough that Elyse had let him man the shop’s radio station all night.

The man hums in affirmal, voice deep and low in his throat, and Gavin finds himself drawn to blue, blue eyes.

He tenses, unsure why they look familiar, but he shrugs it off. 

He hasn’t heard from Ryan in _hours _and Gavin hates it, hates being worried and not knowing, hates being stuck in a shitty petrol station whilst Ryan’s out there throwing his life into the line of fire. Maybe a part of him is jealous, too, the part of him that’s so drawn to Ryan, the part of him that drew him into the dark alleys back in England, the part of him that lead to Dan’s disappointment and him running away across the Atlantic.

Gavin shakes the thought and forces himself to stand up straighter, offering a small smile to the customer in front of him.

Shitty employee he may be, but Gavin can’t come across as rude, can’t tempt the man into writing in a complaint to his manager.

“What can I do for you, then?” Gavin asks, tapping his fingers agitatedly against the counter.

The man smiles again, something softer than his earlier smirk, eyes raking over Gavin as if he’s something precious and sweet.

“Thought you could go for a drink with me,” the man says, voice deep and familiar and – _oh._

The man is wearing a green bomber jacket with blue jeans and a ratty pair of sneakers. He has short curling hair and dark slanted eyebrows and when he smiles, Gavin can see that he has a dimple in his left cheek. He looks so normal, screams civilian, and yet -- 

“Ryan?” Gavin says stupidly, watching as Vagabond – the wanted criminal in the skull mask, the man with his name plastered all over the news, who completed a hiest merely hours ago – stands freely in his store.

“Hi,” Ryan says, offering a weird aborted wave, one Gavin remembers seeing from the bus stop. It’s so awkward and bashful and oh god, Gavin can see a faint redness to the other man’s cheeks. He’s watching the Vagabond _blush_. 

“Hi.” Gavin returns, a stupid smile growing on face. “Hi Ryan.

“You finish soon, right?” Ryan asks and Gavin can _see_ his _mouth_ move - can see the pink of his lips and the way his tongue darts across them in a nervous manner.

Because Ryan is standing in this shitty little petrol store once again, but this time it’s without the mask, without the single-minded ambition to steal something, and he’s _nervous _because of it.

It makes Gavin’s own emotions feel more valid, makes him feel calm, oddly enough. Because if Ryan is nervous then it means Gavin can calm his nerves – it means that Gavin can take control. 

“Yeah, I do.” Gavin says, walking around the counter. He doesn’t plan to hug Ryan, doesn’t plan anything really, but once he has his arms wrapped around Ryan’s neck, face pressed against his shoulder, it feels like the right thing to have done. Especially when, after tensing beneath him, Ryan slumps into it, boneless and warm. He wraps his arms around Gavin’s back and squeezes, holds Gavin tightly and firmly.

“I haven’t had a hug in years,” Gavin comments without thought. He flushes after he says it, wondering if maybe that’s a bit _too_ personal, but Ryan makes a soft noise in return, squeezing Gavin once before pulling back.

“Me neither.” Ryan shrugs, giving a smile that Gavin never wants to forget. 

Gavin can see the broken pieces of Ryan’s past glittering then, glinting like shattered glass in the light, and it’s so, so reminiscent of Gavin’s own past, but he can also see the way Ryan thrives off what he does. Gavin can see the buzzing of adrenaline in the other man’s face, can see that there isn’t one trace of regret over his actions, and Gavin can relate to that too. Gavin can picture the feelings intimately and it makes him buzz with something sweet.

“You have to tell me about the heist,” Gavin warns him as he’s locking up the shop, Elyse having been picked up by a man who’d taken a double glance at Ryan, pale blue eyes flicking between him and Gavin, before turning to Elyse almost accusingly. “_And _you have to get me a drink.”

“Don’t want much, do you?” Ryan comments as they start to walk down the street.

Gavin wants too much - wants to feel alive, wants his landlord to get pest control out, wants to live off something that isn’t pot noodles, wants to stop working at this shitty shop - but mostly what he wants right now is Ryan.

Ryan who is strong and muscled and handsome. Who has treated Gavin kindly without question, who hadn’t felt the need to hide anything from him or force Gavin to hide parts of himself.

Ryan is next to him, warm and real and with bruises under his shirt, peaking out by his collar, and with a coat that’s slightly too big for him draped over his broad shoulders.

Gavin wants to consume him and be consumed in return, wants to know everything about the other man from his touch to his stupidest thoughts, wants to kiss Ryan and taste alcohol on his mouth - wants to find out if Ryan is a whisky man or not.

Gavin wants Ryan is every single way possible. In his bed, on his speed-dial, in the petrol station car park as he waits for Gavin to finish his shift. He wants to know what his muscles feel like under his fingers, to know what sounds Gavin can force him to make, wants to feel the other man pressing him down and keeping him where he wants him.

He’s fucked, has been since he saw Ryan on the news, and the burning inside of him has only grown with every interaction, Ryan adding more oxygen to the flames within him, oil to a spark. 

“More than you could know,” Gavin comments. He aims for airy, but the words come out sounding breathless. Sounding _desperate_.

Ryan’s eyes darken, reminding Gavin of when he first saw them in the mask, deep and endless. Gavin can feel them on him, and he feels the heat inside him grow, can almost taste the heaviness of it all in the air.

“We’ll see about that,” Ryan says, voice more crooning than before, nerves seemingly vanished, and when he lays a hand on Gavin’s back, pulling him to a gentle stop, Gavin thinks he might implode. That everything inside him will shrivel and that he’ll never be anything bar the heat of Ryan’s hand, the warmth of his breath, the smokiness of the gunpowder smell that follows him around. “After all,” Ryan continues, leaning closer, too close, close enough that if Gavin turned his head their noses would bump. “We have time.” And then, more openly, “I really like you, Gavin.”

The words are innocent, almost, in comparison to everything Gavin has been thinking. They’re genuine – real and sincere – and for some reason they seem to fit Ryan so, so well. 

Ryan is honest - is a criminal who does what he wants and openly takes pleasure from it – who fires with precision and snorts in a devastatingly human way, even when he’s wearing a mask. It makes Gavin want to know how far he can make the other man unravel, makes him want to see how many walls he can rip down and how much more of Ryan can shine through.

Gavin _wants_, and Ryan wants him too.

“I like you too,” Gavin does turn his head then and their noses bump together, Ryan’s eyes an ocean and Gavin willing to drown.  
Ryan kisses back without hesitation, soft and warm, and Gavin _takes_.

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween! 
> 
> sorry that its not really civilian gavin, i need to give everyone a damaged past aparently. still, one of the more fluffy things i've written, focused purely and soley on love and soft feelings.
> 
> unbeta'd as always x
> 
> [+tumblr](http://lunal0u.tumblr.com).  



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